


London Calling

by escritoireazul



Category: Make It or Break It
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Olympics, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Payson goes to the Olympics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Calling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/gifts).



“They ordered, like, a hundred and fifty thousand condoms,” Kaylie says, laughing. She links her arm through Payson’s, and leans in close. “ _One hundred and fifty thousand_. You still saving up all your partying for the Olympic Village, Pay? I bet you could get through a couple dozen.”

“ _Kaylie_!” Payson’s cheeks go hot; she can’t help but laugh.

“Condoms,” Kaylie teases. “Not guys.” Then she casts a sideways look at Payson. “Well, maybe guys.”

“Oh, god, stop,” Payson ducks her head, trying to hide both her red cheeks and her big grin. She can’t encourage Kaylie, or she’ll never hear the end of it.

Near them, Lauren makes a disgusted little noise. “Could you two act any younger?” she demands, and when Payson looks up, she catches Lauren rolling her eyes. “Please don’t embarrass me.”

Almost, Payson points out that Lauren should be more worried about not embarrassing _herself_ , because every time something goes wrong in Lauren’s person life, she screws up in her routines, too, but manages to bite it back at the last minute. She’s not that cruel.

Well, no. One thing she’s learned over the past year is that yes, she can be _exactly_ that cruel, they all can, but that’s not the kind of person she wants to be.

This is her dream. She’s been working her whole life for this moment. 

She’s going to enjoy every single second as the kind of person she wants to be -- the kind of person she is.

*

They’ve got four whole days until the opening ceremony, six until their competitions begin. Payson wants to spend every single second of it working on her routines, but even she knows that’s a terrible idea. She needs to take it easy, rest a lot, let her body adjust to the time change. The more she pushes, the more likely it is that she’ll hurt herself again, and there’s no way she can do that thirty seconds before her dream finally comes true.

But she lets herself take a moment when they’re first let into the venue for podium training. There’s a ton of people there already; not as many as when the seats are filled, she knows that, but way more than expected. They’re up first on vault in prelims, and that’s where they start podium training, too. Payson stands with the girls, takes deep breaths, and looks around. 

Later, she won’t be able to look at the stands, can’t let herself see all the people. But for a moment, she takes in all that space, open and loud. Voices echo, music will ring off the rafters, even her heart sounds louder than it did back in her room.

“We’ve got this,” Kaylie says, slinging her arm across Payson’s shoulders. Payson tries to slow her breathing, counts in, counts out, and leans against her. Lauren comes up on Kaylie’s other side, slips her arm around Kaylie’s waist. “Ladies, the Rock has come to London, and we are going to _dominate_.”

A smile breaks across Payson’s mouth, until her cheeks start to hurt it’s so big and so bright.

*

She texts Emily in the middle of the night, London time, when she can’t sleep. The opening ceremonies are done, and it sounds like everyone is partying, but they start competing that weekend, and there’s no way she’s going to sabotage her chances by drinking or dancing too much or staying up all night – well, crap.

Her phone buzzes in her hand a minute later. Not a text. Emily’s actually calling. They haven’t spoken in months, just the occasional text, maybe an email. Instagram and Snapchat, sometimes, too. 

“Hey,” Emily says.

“You should be here.” Payson didn’t plan on saying that, the words tumble out of her mouth before she realizes what she’s doing, but she wouldn’t take them back even if she could.

For a long moment, all she can hear is Emily’s shaky breathing, and something that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle. When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. Payson blinks back unexpected tears. “You belong there, Payson. You’re going to do great.”

Payson doesn’t say _I miss you_ or _I’m so scared_. She holds the phone tight, fisted in her right hand, and pulls the blanket up to her chin. “How are you?” she asks.

Another sniffle, a little laugh. “I’m okay.” 

They talk a little, quiet things, casual things. When they’re done, instead of saying good-bye, Emily says, “I’m going to watch you win.”

Payson falls asleep still clutching the phone, face smushed into the pillow, cheeks wet.

*

There’s a moment, after she’s saluted the judges but before her music starts, that Payson stands on the floor, a breath from her routine, and looks up. The stadium is crowded, the seats full, but she knows her parents are there, somewhere, watching her, cheering, her sister with them; closer, holding hands, bodies bruised and very nearly broken from all the work they’ve put in, her friends; and Sasha, a still, peaceful presence somewhere, his eyes on her. 

This is it. This is her event, her moment, her chance to show the world everything she is and all she can do.

The team gold medal was nice. She loved standing with the other girls, especially Kaylie and Lauren, and the weight of it around her neck after. She even teared up a little during the national anthem, and that’s not something that usually happens. (Usually, she’s so exhausted, so sore, all she can think about is climbing into a bathtub of ice and then sleeping for a week.) That was amazing, team spirit, five disparate girls coming together with one goal, one heart.

This is even better. This is Payson, and her music, and her beloved routine.

This is Payson Keeler, artistic gymnastic, lithe and graceful and beautiful. All of the things she once never thought she could ever be. All of the things she once never thought she could ever _want_ to be.

Payson takes a deep breath, hits her first pose, and waits, bright light in her eyes, and every muscle tense.

Her music hits.

And

she

soars.

*

Payson wraps her fist around the gold medal, and holds it aloft, her face bright, eyes filled with tears. She’s sweaty and exhausted, her legs ache, her feet hurt, her shoulders are sore. She’s never felt happier, or more beautiful. 

The camera captures her then, all her strength turned to joy, face tilted into the lights, glitter sparkling.

It’s everything Payson ever wanted, and more.


End file.
